


Fictober 2019

by LulaIsAKitten



Series: Fictobers [1]
Category: Cormoran Strike Series - Robert Galbraith
Genre: F/M, Fictober 2019
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-30
Packaged: 2020-11-08 12:01:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 3,100
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20835131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LulaIsAKitten/pseuds/LulaIsAKitten
Summary: A collection of drabbles forFictober 2019.





	1. “It will be fun, trust me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to do Fictober 2019 on Tumblr at lulacat3, link above. Am going to try to post a drabble a day, unless life gets in the way, as chapters collected in this single work. This is just a collection of random little moments - sometimes they’re together, sometimes not, sometimes it doesn’t matter, hence the / and & tags above.
> 
> They might not even be all Strike and Robin. Let’s see where this goes...

“It will be fun, trust me.” Robin regards him over the rim of her mug, her face partially obscured by steam.

“It won’t.” Strike scowls darkly.

“It will if you have the right mindset.”

“And what mindset will get me through a ten-year-old’s birthday party with my sanity intact?”

“Well, what if I said I find Uncle Cormoran...rather sexy?” Her cheeks are pink. He wonders if it’s just the steam, and hopes not.

“I’m listening.”

She tosses her head, that cheeky confidence that sends heat surging through him.

“Maybe I’ll demonstrate. Afterwards.”

Strike grins. His Saturday’s suddenly looking up.


	2. “Just follow me, I know the area.”

“Just follow me, I know the area.”

“I’m not going to ask how,” Robin mutters. She resists the urge to press close to him, worried she’ll give away how scared she is. Shadows lurk in every corner and alley, shadows that could contain grabbing hands...

“You okay?” Strike has always been too astute.

“Fine.”

“We don’t have to do this.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine. You’re here.”

He glances at her in the dim light cast by a distant street lamp, and something - pride? - flares briefly in his eyes. He’s her protector.

Suddenly it really is fine. They move on quietly.


	3. “Now? Now you listen to me?”

“Now? Now you listen to me?”

Strike shrugs and then winces, hissing in a breath.

Robin’s raised eyebrow contains frustration as well as amusement.

“If you’d rested your knee when I said, you wouldn’t now also have a broken collarbone.”

“I know.”

“But you’re going to rest now?”

He sighs. “Yeah.”

“Your punishment is the paperwork, you know.”

“I know.”

“And to watch me doing all the legwork.”

He scowls. “I know!”

“Hey—” She’s touched a nerve. “I’m teasing. I don’t mind.”

“Well, I do.”

“Then maybe you should listen to me more,” she can’t help muttering.

Strike just grunts.


	4. “I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“I know you didn’t ask for this.”

“That’s an understatement. I hate surprises.”

Robin sighs. Twenty minutes in and Strike is already looking to escape.

“I did try to tell Ilsa that something low-key would be better. But she said you’re only forty once.”

“So you knew?”

Robin’s cheeks grow hot. “A bit.”

“It’s a yes-or-no question.”

“Okay, yes.”

He sighs, gazing gloomily round at his friends and family, knowing he’s being ungrateful. “You’d think she’d have had enough after Nick’s.”

“And my thirtieth.”

“Yeah.”

“Just make the most of it, okay? For me? And Ilsa.”

He sighs again. “Okay.”


	5. “I might just kiss you.”

“I might just kiss you.”

Robin casts him a hooded glance from beneath heavy eyelids. “Might you, now?”

“Yeah. Full-on snog at midnight.” Strike grins his cheeky grin, the one she’s allowed to love, now. His thumbs continue their delicious massage of her aching feet.

“It’s one way to take us public, I suppose.”

“Mm.”

“Ilsa might spontaneously combust.”

He chuckles. “Probably.”

“I thought you wanted to keep it quiet a bit longer?”

“Part of me does. I want you to myself.”

“But...?”

“Part of me wants to shout it from the rooftops, too. And that part’s winning.”

She smiles.


	6. “Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

“Yes, I’m aware. Your point?”

Robin blinks. “Well, you could go and buy her a drink.”

Strike is resolutely not making eye contact with the woman who has been batting her eyelashes across the bar for considerably longer than Robin realises.

“I’m here with you.”

She laughs and reaches for her bag. “I won’t cramp your style.”

He lays a gentle hand on hers. When did he last even look at another woman?

“I meant I’m happy here with you.”

Robin blinks again, and a blush steals across her cheeks.

“Oh. Um...okay.”

“Another drink?”

She hides a smile. “Sure.”


	7. “No, and that’s final.”

“No, and that’s final.” Her eyes flash.

“Robin—”

“I said no.”

She glares at him, and he snuffles miserably. His head aches.

“You’re not going back out there, Cormoran. Look at you.” She lays a hand on his forehead. _Cool, so cool._ He closes his eyes briefly. “You’re burning up.”

He suppresses a cough. “I’m fine.”

“You’re stubborn, is what you are. I’m tailing Tartan today. And buying Lemsip.”

Strike sighs and slumps, gives in. He does feel truly awful.

Satisfied, Robin grabs her coat and umbrella.

“Lemon or blackcurrant?”

“Blackcurrant. Please. And Strepsils.”

A brisk nod, and she’s gone.


	8. “Can you stay?”

“Can you stay?”

“Well, yeah, I _can_. I don’t want to.”

“But it means Lucy and Greg can go out for the first time in forever?”

“And that I can’t see you tonight.”

Robin chuckles, a low, warm sound, and he presses his phone closer against his ear. “You should have thought of an excuse faster.”

“What, like, ‘Sorry, I can’t, my business partner is waiting in my bed, hopefully naked’?”

“That’s not exactly—”

“Are you?”

“..maybe.”

He groans. “Now I _really _don’t want to stay.”

“Enjoy your nephews. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Strike sighs and stubs out his cigarette.


	9. “There is a certain taste to it.”

“There is a certain taste to it.”

She snorts. “You’re acting like it’s foreign food.”

Strike grins. “Might as well be.”

“But do you like it?”

He pretends to consider.

“I’m not sure chips with gravy should be allowed. Salt and vinegar, yes. Ketchup. But _gravy_?”

“Southern heathen.” Robin giggles. “I bet you like gravy on roast potatoes.”

“That’s different.”

“It is, in fact, almost exactly the same.”

There’s a thoughtful pause.

“So, do you want your own portion, or are you just going to keep stealing mine?”

“Well. When in Rome...”

Robin smirks and turns back to the counter.


	10. “Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

“Listen, I can’t explain it, you’ll have to trust me.”

She trusts him utterly, so she lets him kiss her and press her against the wall of the shiny office. His mouth is hot and his fingers are in her hair, and she’s impressed by his commitment to realism.

“What are you doing in here?”

They jump apart guiltily as the guard’s torch flashes over them. Robin can’t speak for the hammer of her heart, blood pounding in her ears.

“Sorry.” Strike’s voice is hoarse. “Just looking for some privacy.”

“Well...look somewhere else.”

They leave hurriedly, Robin still trembling.


	11. “It’s not always like this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ratings hike because we’ve gone a little smutty.
> 
> Is 100-word smut possible, I wondered...

“It’s not always like this.”

He’s hoarse, and trembling as much as she is.

“Oh—” Robin’s voice is soft and wondering. “I thought—”

She stops. Not the moment to mention her ex’s inadequacies. But she feels less overwhelmed, knowing Strike feels the same.

She runs a curious hand across his chest, fingernails carding through soft whorls of hair, marvelling. Strike groans.

“Robin, please—” His voice cracks a little. He rocks beneath her, his breathing ragged. She can see he’s desperately trying to hold back.

A cheeky half-smile pulls at her mouth.

“Sorry,” she murmurs, and begins to move again, sighing.


	12. “What if I don’t see it?”

“What if I don’t see it?”

“Then you’re fucking blind, mate.”

Strike raises an eyebrow, but Nick just looks at him over the rim of his glass, implacable.

Strike drops his gaze, fiddles with his lighter. Nick sets his pint down.

“Seriously, Oggy. It’s obvious.”

“Not to me.”

“Well, it is to absolutely everyone else, trust me.”

Strike sighs. It can’t be possible. Him and Robin...

“Did Ilsa put you up to this?”

Nick grins. “Maybe. You know, if you don’t do something, my wife will.”

Strike looks at him in alarm. “Like what?”

“Dunno. Best not risk it, eh?


	13. “I never knew it could be this way.”

“I never knew it could be this way.”

Strike frowns at the non sequitur. They’re discussing strategy on their latest case, the office window open, the morning coffee-scented.

“Never knew what could be what way?”

Robin waves a vague arm. “You...listen. I’m allowed ideas and opinions.”

Now he’s really confused. “Um...yeah? You’re a partner here.”

She shrugs, looks down at her cup. “I’m not used to being listened to.”

He blinks, unsure what to say. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to her insights, her ideas - Christ, even just her voice?

“Well. Get used to it.”

She laughs, and nods.


	14. “I can’t come back.”

“I can’t come back.”

Strike can hear the click of heels, clipped, tense.

“Robin, please. If I had two good legs I’d come after you. We need to talk.”

“Cormoran—” Her steps falter. “I-I can’t.”

“Please, Robin,” he urges again. They can’t leave it here. “I’m sorry. I was...surprised, that’s all.”

Her voice drops to a whisper. “I’m too embarrassed.”

“There’s no need. It’s my fault, I wasn’t expecting you to—” he forces it out “—kiss me.”

A groan of mortification. “Me neither.”

His voice softens. “Do it again. Please.”

The footsteps stop. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. I’m coming back.”


	15. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

“That’s what I’m talking about!”

Strike leans in to the screen, rewinding again. He’s seen this footage over and over. “What?”

“There!” Robin leans in too, elbows on his desk. Her arm touches his and her hair brushes his cheek. He swallows hard and tries to concentrate.

“_Where?_”

“Right...there! Baseball-cap guy passes something to duffle-coat girl.”

He rewinds yet again. There’s a pause.

“Good God, Robin, how did you spot that in those crowds?”

“I lay awake most of last night. It was the only answer.”

He watches it again, then sits back.

“Bloody hell. Well done.”

She beams.


	16. “Listen. No, really listen.”

“Listen. No, really listen.”

Strike cocks his head on one side, and Robin suppresses a giggle. It’s unexpectedly cute.

“I can’t hear anything.”

“You really can’t hear it?”

He casts her a doubtful look. “No.”

She sighs. “You’re lucky. It’s quite annoying.”

“You’re seriously telling me you can hear cat scarers?”

“Yeah. And burglar alarms on standby. And old CRT tellies on mute.”

“You’re weird.”

She laughs. “I looked it up. It’s very high frequency sounds. I never understood why no one else hated the telly on mute when I was little.”

“Huh.” He loves learning new things about her.


	17. “There is just something about them/her/him.”

“There is just something about him.”

Ilsa snorts. “Aaaaaand another one bites the dust.”

Robin stares. “What?”

“Don’t get me wrong. I love Corm, I just don’t get the attraction.”

“That’s not what I meant!”

“Mm-hm.”

“Really, it’s not!”

“That’s a lot of blushing and denying for something that definitely hasn’t crossed your mind.”

Robin buries her scarlet face in her latte, and Ilsa giggles. “Okay, what _did _ you mean?”

“Just that I like the way he thinks, and analyses, and he’s got this...presence with clients that— Stop laughing!”

Ilsa wipes her eyes. “Oh, Robin, I’m sorry.”

Robin huffs.


	18. “Secrets? I love secrets.”

“Secrets? I love secrets.”

Jack beams. Robin has squeezed into his fort under the dining table, and is interested in his secret.

“I’m not supposed to know. I heard Aunty Ilsa and Uncle Nick talking.”

“Ooh, have they got a secret?” Robin smiles, idly wondering what it is.

Jack leans in. “Uncle Cormoran’s in love with you,” he whispers loudly.

Shock pierces her.

“Um, Jack, I don’t—”

“Aunty Ilsa says it’s obvious.”

Curiosity overpowers discretion. “What did Uncle Nick say?”

“He already knew. Someone called Oggy told him.”

“Oh. That’s— Oh.”

“Do you want your own sword?”

“Um...yes, please.”


	19. “Yes, I admit it, you were right.”

“Yes, I admit it, you were right.” 

Strike grins at Ilsa, shameless, his arm wrapped around Robin. Ilsa claps her hands, delighted, and he thinks she might be going to cry.

Blushing, Robin presses her face into his shoulder, hiding her goofy smile. They’d been going to keep it secret a while longer, but Ilsa guessed instantly. She’s known Strike almost all his life.

He’s too happy to care. Robin - his Robin, it’s like the gods in whom he doesn’t believe have bestowed some miracle upon him - slides her arm around his waist, squeezing.

“Nick? Open that champagne!” Ilsa cries.


	20. “You could talk about it, you know?“

“You could talk about it, you know?”

They’re in a lay-by, the Land Rover clinking as it cools, the breeze fresh on their faces. Strike leans on the gate, drenched in cold sweat, his heart slowing, feeling foolish. It had been the gentlest shunt, the car behind them not paying attention, and Robin had never once lost control. But the panic that engulfed him had given no quarter. He’s still shaking, long after Robin has exchanged insurance details with the other driver and sent him on his way.

She waits, patient. She knows.

“Actually, to you, I probably could, yeah.”


	21. “Change is annoyingly difficult.”

“Change is annoyingly difficult.”

Strike casts Robin a sideways glance from his position at her desk. “Are you taking the piss?”

She chuckles. “Maybe. A bit.”

He sighs a little and squints at her screen. “Where’s the save button?”

She rests a hand briefly on his shoulder as she leans across. “There, on the left.”

“Why would they move that? There’s no reason!”

She sighs exaggeratedly. “Are you going to be like this every time they update the software?”

“Probably. I hate change.”

“Wait till you hear the other bad news, then.”

“Christ, what?”

“I had to get different biscuits.”


	22. “We could have a chance.”

“We could have a chance.”

For a moment, Robin wonders if he’s even heard. But he glances at her, and she can see he’s weighing it up.

“We have to decide fast,” she adds.

He doesn’t like it, she can see. The guy they’re after is dangerous. But they can’t watch both exits from here.

“Okay, but stay in the car and lock the doors.” He’s reaching for the handle. “If he comes this way, let him go.”

“What’s the point—?”

“Robin. Photos only. Stay in the car.” His voice shakes a little. “Please.”

“Okay.”

He nods and sets off.


	23. “You can’t give more than yourself.”

“You can’t give more than yourself.”

Strike sighs. Ilsa’s right. He smokes and stares at the garden, at nothing.

“What if it’s not enough?” His voice is low.

She takes hold of his chin, like she does, turning his face to hers. “Of course it’s enough. It’s you.”

He drops his gaze. “She wants things I can’t offer. Financial stability. A family.”

“How do you know?”

He shrugs. Ilsa’s mouth sets into a straight line.

“I think that’s for Robin to decide, don’t you? Have you talked to her?”

“You ask annoying questions.”

She chuckles. “You love me really.”

“Yeah.”


	24. “Patience...is not something I’m known for.”

“Patience...is not something I’m known for.”

Strike grins, imagining feisty young Robin, impatient with teasing brothers. “Time you learned, then,” he says cheerfully.

She sighs. “It’s so boring. Have we got any more coffee?”

The door they’re watching opens, and they both sit up, then slump back again as a cleaner emerges, tosses bags into a nearby wheelie bin and vanishes again.

Robin sighs. Strike pours more coffee. Robin looks at the crossword.

“Any chance you could stop clicking the pen?”

She looks down at her own hand, surprised. “Sorry.”

“This is going to be a long evening.”

“Yeah.”


	25. “I could really eat something.”

“I could really eat something.”

Robin shakes her head with a fond smile. “You just had a hotel breakfast.”

“That was ages ago.” Strike pouts, his lower lip jutting.

“It was—” she glances at her watch “—an hour and a half ago.”

“See? Ages.”

She chuckles. “Twelve miles to the services. Think you’ll live that long?”

He gives an exaggerated sigh. “Maybe.”

“You can’t guilt me about the lack of biscuits. You ate today’s rations yesterday.”

“I’ll buy more.”

She nods. “And we can fill up the coffee.”

There’s a pause.

“I like our road trips.”

She smiles. “Me too.”


	26. “You keep me warm.”

“You keep me warm.”

Strike shivers, pulling the duvet right up to their noses, snuggling closer. “There’s precious little else to keep you warm. Is that ice on the _inside _of the skylight?”

Robin giggles, burying her nose in his chest hair, pressing her hips to his, enjoying the way his breath hitches. “Maybe. Can’t see.”

He presses a kiss into her hair. He can’t feel the cold when she’s rocking against him like that.

“We can just stay here till it’s warm again,” Robin murmurs.

He laughs. “What, till spring?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay. C’mere,” he growls, pulling her even closer. 


	27. “Can you wait for me?”

“Can you wait for me?”

It’s an innocent question. She’s just finishing a report before they head to the pub. But it floors him. _For ever,_ he thinks, and his face must give something away, because she’s staring at him. He stands there, coat on, feeling like an idiot.

“Yeah, sure,” he says, far too late.

Puzzled, she gazes at him for a long moment. Strike shifts awkwardly. The office is suddenly too hot.

Robin turns slowly back to her screen, and Strike looks around for something to do.

“Just sit down.” Her voice is low, amused.

Flushing, he sits.


	28. “Enough! I heard enough.”

“Enough! I heard enough.”

Robin’s scarlet and refusing to look at him, typing as though her life depends on it.

Strike sighs and runs a hand through his untamed hair. This is why he doesn’t bring women to his flat. Partly. But Ciara’s brother’s staying at her place, so...

“I just bumped into—”

“It’s none of my business.”

“Why are you here on Sunday morning anyway?”

For the first time, she looks up, glaring.

“So it’s my fault?”

He can’t work out what’s going on. Why is she so angry? “No...”

Robin huffs a breath and goes back to typing.


	29. “I’m doing this for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Smut alert...

“I’m doing this for you.” Strike’s words are punctuated by long, slow slides of his tongue across her core. He wants to break down her shyness. He can’t believe that idiot never did this for her. “But believe me, it’s for me, too.”

Blushing, anxious, panting with pleasure, Robin moans. She wants him to stop and longs for him to continue.

“Close your eyes,” he whispers, and slides his tongue into her. She’s slowly relaxing, he can feel it. Once he’s convinced her he’s enjoying this too, maybe she’ll let him take her over the edge.

Robin obeys, trembling, trusting.


	30. “I’m with you, you know that.”

“I’m with you, you know that.”

Strike looks at her, then gently pulls her aside. He lowers his voice, glancing back at the door to Scotland Yard.

“You’ll tell Wardle the truth. This one’s on me.”

Robin’s jaw sets. “We’re partners. We’re in this together.”

“Robin. I’m not dragging you down with me.”

“Cormoran, you’re not going down. Wardle’s reasonable.”

“I broke the law.”

“And saved their arses, yet again.”

Strike huffs in frustration and draws on his cigarette.

“I knew you were doing it. I’m complicit.”

He looks at her helplessly.

“We’re in this together.”

He sighs, and nods.


	31. “Scared, me?”

“Scared, me?”

Strike grins down at her. Robin searches his face, looking for any sign of uncertainty, any hint of fear.

“You’ve never done this before.”

He laughs his big laugh. “And you have?”

She flushes. “That’s not what I meant.”

“It’s true, though.”

She shrugs.

“Come on, Ellacott. Sooner this is over, sooner we can go to the pub.”

“Well, isn’t that romantic.”

He grins again, and takes her hand. They climb the steps to where Nick and Ilsa are waiting, Nick in his suit, Ilsa smiling mistily.

Robin kisses them both, and then they’re entering the register office.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that’s the end of Fictober 2019. Thank you all for reading along! It’s been a great exercise in drabbling and working out what’s possible in a hundred words. 😊


End file.
